


011 "Bettie Page"

by wheel_pen



Series: Iron Man AU [11]
Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fish out of Water, My Pepper is different, Pre-Iron Man, Tony is not PC, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 22:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is working on an important deal with a U.S. Senator when Pepper walks in wearing her new dress—which Tony compares to a '50's pinup outfit and finds very distracting. Pepper seems to think he deserves any discomfort this causes, for insulting the suit she was originally wearing that day. "You might have wondered how I managed to go so many years with Pepper right under my nose but never, well, under the rest of me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	011 "Bettie Page"

**Author's Note:**

> 1) My Pepper is very different from canon Pepper. Her personality/origin is very different; to separate her from canon Pepper I've given her a new last name and a different hair color.
> 
> 2) The bad words are censored. That's just how I do things.
> 
> 3) Stories are numbered in the order I wrote them, which isn't necessarily the order in which they occur. At some point I'll post a timeline.
> 
> I wrote this series after the first Iron Man movie came out. It's very AU but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play with these characters.

            "Hey, is Pepper back yet?" I asked over the intercom from my office.

            " _Yes, sir_ ," she answered promptly.

            "Good. Bring in those papers for Senator DeStillo."

            " _Yes, sir_."

            "We certainly appreciate the work your company has done, Mr. Stark," the Senator reiterated pleasantly. "Both here and abroad, I mean."

            "Hey, this equipment is going to defend Americans," I told her. "Why shouldn't it be _made_ by Americans?" I narrowly avoided gagging on the platitudes. I liked to think that it wasn't all about the money for me—that I didn't walk around with dollar signs in my eyes like Obadiah—but the fact was, it was significantly more expensive to have most parts made in America. And while I was all for protecting Americans from the bad guys—that was what my entire career was based on, after all—I didn't really walk around with American flags in my eyes, either. But the Senator was on the Defense Expenditures Committee, so if she wanted a Stark Industries manufacturing plant in her state, she could have it, along with all the patriotic rhetoric I could come up with. To be honest I would rather have been in my workshop or a field lab than dealing with this business c—p, but Obadiah always said _I_ was the one people wanted to see, not some lawyer. And flattery got you almost everywhere with me.

            Pepper entered the office with the requested documents, and when I saw her all patriotic thoughts fled. I nearly let loose an expletive that wasn't exactly appropriate to use in front of a Senator (not that she hadn't heard it before, or used it herself probably), but fortunately I was also kind of choking, which was all that muzzled me.

            "Um, so, Pepper," I finally stumbled, "what the h—l are you wearing?" (That wasn't the inappropriate expletive, not by a long shot.)

            "It's my new dress, sir," she replied pleasantly, handing me the papers. "I just bought it today over lunch."

            "Mm-hmm," I responded, peeking at the Senator's expression. It seemed to say, 'There had better be a good explanation for this.'

            Pepper sensed my discomfort and frowned slightly. "You told me to buy something more colorful, sir," she reminded me.

            "True. But I didn't think you'd come back looking like… Bettie Page." Think bright red, polka-dotted halter top, skin-tight to halfway down the hips, small skirt that was really more decorative than functional. And bright red stilettos, of course. The only thing missing from the look was—

            "If I were really Bettie Page, sir," Pepper corrected, after searching her internal database for the reference, "I would also be bound and gagged, or conversely, carrying a whip."

            I pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration. Of course, of _course_ Pepper would do this kind of thing to me when I had a prominent guest and couldn't immediately ravish her on my desk. And _that_ imagery? Really not helping.

            "Yes, yes, Pepper, you would," I agreed evenly. "Good point. That's all, Pepper." I loved watching her leave, for more than one reason. Then I turned back to the Senator, searching my mind for a plausible explanation. At least I didn't have to fake my discomfort. "My assistant, Pepper," I began, clearing my throat. "Well, she's autistic. Sometimes things don't really… connect." Things belonging to me and Pepper, for example.

            Ah, I had chosen my excuse wisely—the light of sympathy dawned in the Senator's eyes. "Oh, I see," she nodded. "That must be very difficult for you, in your position."

            "Yes, yes," I agreed, shifting in my chair a little. "It can be… very hard sometimes. In my position."

            "Well, you handle it very well," she judged.

            "Trust me, I have a lot of practice handling it where Pepper is concerned," I assured her, wondering if a person could spontaneously combust from a surfeit of double entendres.

            "Well, don't worry about it, Mr. Stark," the Senator declared kindly. She leaned in conspiratorially. "Back in my day I had a similar outfit myself."

            Well that did it. Now I could stand up to shake her hand, no problem. Almost as good as picturing my grandmother in lingerie.

            As soon as the Senator had gone on her merry way I closed my office door to compose myself for a moment, then stuck my head out again. "Pepper, get in here." Obediently she left her desk and walked past me. Then I turned a stern gaze on the three grandmotherly secretaries who were giggling pleasantly at their desks. "And as for the three of _you_ , who didn't make her go and change immediately… Thank you!" I shut the door happily.

            I turned around and Pepper was bending over my desk gathering up loose paperwork. Conveniently, the dress appeared to come with built-in underwear. "Oh, G-d, Pepper," I sighed. "You're really killing me, you know?"

            "I'm sorry, sir," she replied, not sounding especially sorry. "Perhaps you'd like to make another suggestion about my sartorial choices?"

            "Oh, oh, I get it," I realized, walking back around to my chair. "You're punishing me. I see. That's really very juvenile, Pepper," I added, trying to sound as condescending as possible. It wasn't quite as effective as it could have been, since I was trying to look down her top at the same time. "Do you wanna, like, um, get a drink later, or…?"

            "Sir?" Pepper asked, with that cool professionalism unwarmed by the Playboy Bunny picnic dress she wore. There was something very untouchable about Pepper. You might have wondered how I managed to go so many years with Pepper right under my nose but never, well, under the rest of me. That was how—that look that showed about as much interest in sex as a potted fern. Not that Pepper was _really_ autistic (I thought), I just heard that suggested about her somewhere and used it occasionally, in emergencies. I didn't know what her deal really was, if it was just me, all men, all humans, what, but I was definitely not the sort of guy who proceeded without reciprocation. Which was probably the only thing in the world I _didn't_ get from Pepper (and she was one of the few in the world I didn't get it _from_ ).

            "Never mind," I decided prudently. "Gimme your phone. How do you set up the camera? I wanna take a picture of you in that getup and send it to Rhodey." Patiently Pepper obliged, though she refused to pose in any special way.

            "Was there anything else, sir?"

            "Yeah, get your stuff, you're working in here the rest of the day," I told her. Some people accused me of having a self-destructive streak. If they meant the way I wanted Pepper prancing around my office (okay, typing) like a '50's pinup girl—but with no hope of touching her—then yeah, I would have to cop to that one.

            "Okay, sir," she agreed. "You have a board meeting at three today, sir," she added.

            "D—n." Briefly I considered letting her accompany me in that outfit. But I realized it would probably induce heart attacks in some of the older board members. "Okay, Pepper," I conceded responsibly, "before we go to the meeting, change back into the suit you were wearing earlier today." I paused. "You still have it with you, right?" With Pepper there was always the chance she had already sold it or thrown it away or something.

            "The suit I was wearing earlier, sir?"

            I sighed, sensing that _difficultness_ rear its head again. "Yes, Pepper, that _very nice_ grey suit you were wearing this morning."

            "The one you said made me look like a math teacher in a Catholic school?" she pressed coolly. Pepper could be a little sensitive about her clothing.

            "See, you act like that was an insult," I tried, "but actually the math teachers in Catholic schools are really hot."

            She seemed somewhat mollified by this clarification. "Yes, sir, I still have the suit with me. I'll change before the meeting. Shall I go get my work now, sir?"

            "Yes, Pepper, please do."

            Her phone rang before she could leave and she handed it to me without answering it. "It's Major Rhodes, sir."

            "Thanks!" I took the phone and let her go. "Hey, Rhodey! Yeah, didn't I tell you, I've decided to start producing soft-core porn…"

* * *


End file.
